WallyHackenslacker/Gists
1
0
Fork 0
Code Issues Pull Requests Packages Projects Releases Wiki Activity

Added 10 more gists.

Browse Source
This commit is contained in:
Miguel Astor
2023-06-20 22:03:49 -04:00
parent 1400a87eab
commit 22ff5bfa25
19 changed files with 1642 additions and 0 deletions
Download Patch File Download Diff File Expand all files Collapse all files

1
narbonic.txt/README.md Normal file
View File

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
A backup of the story-in-the-file-names from the webcomic Narbonic. Taken from [http://www.ci-n.com/~jcampbel/narbonic.txt](http://www.ci-n.com/~jcampbel/narbonic.txt)

906
narbonic.txt/narbonic.txt Normal file
View File

@@ -0,0 +1,906 @@
rednaeroc darnoc lrac skoob dlo This inscription could be seen on the glass
door of a small shop but naturally this was only the way it looked if you
were inside the dimly lit shop looking out at the street through the
plate-glass door Outside it was a gray cold rainy November morning The rain
ran down the the glass and over the ornate letters Through the glass there
was nothing to be seen but the rain-splotched wall across the street
endquote
Meanwhile Im saving my money I want to buy one of those yellow
inflatable life rafts Also Im looking around for a really intelligent
chicken endquote
When Octavius Winter told people -normal people- that he was an evil
attorney they always responded with some jolly variant on Aren't they all
Winter had a special gaze reserved for those people It was on the surface
almost identical to his usual cold grim workaday glare the only discernable
difference was that it inspired the target to instantly stagger back gibber
an apology or burst into tears Generally all three
He was an evil attorney Like only the best evil attorneys he knew that his
clients whether world-conquering despots twitchy mad scientists or the slick
and reptilian heads of sinister corporations appreciated a modicum of the
appropriate style from the henchmen and servitors in their hire For a lawyer
this meant a complexion of fungal sallowness a dour visage carved in deep
and portentous lines hair slicked back from a widows peak expensive dark
suit with shoulders broad enough to accomodate a brace of vultures and
whenever possible a cloak The gaze was just the maraschino cherry on the
macabre hot-fudge sundae of Octavius Winter Evil Attorney at Law
For what he charged it was the least he could do Evil law was steady
rewarding work Winters practice attracted the types of clients who had
plenty of liquid cash suffered frequent difficulties with the law and were
generous in their peculiar way to those willing to help them Villains are a
lawyers dream Winter did get the occasional bad apple one of those
shortsighted would-be overlords who try to murder their own hirelings up to
and including licensed legal representatives simply to prove their
ruthlessness but it was for just such frivolous individuals that odorless
poisons had been developed after all
Winter didnt much mind handling the bad apples in the evil community He
always politely but firmly requested payment up front Yet the functions of
an evil attorney do include some genuine unpleasantness and Winter as his
tasteful black sedan slid through the shadows of the universitys sunny
tree-lined drive suspected that he might be approaching some of it
He was not pleased True the Narbon estate was in many respects the finest
entry in his impeccable portfolio and he was willing to endure much for it
Before Dr Helen Narbon had hired Winter her familys legal affairs had been
handled for uncounted generations by Elijah Threadham one of the true
legends Winter remembered reading with boyish awe in his days as an amoral
law student of how the mere entrance of the venerable lawyer into a
courtroom stapled-together flesh dripping and eyesockets emitting their
familiar red LED glow had won the Narbon family many hasty and agreeable
out-of-court settlements When Threadham had at last gone irrevocably to
pieces and Dr Narbon had reluctantly stopped digging him up and hooking him
to the galvanizer for one last case Winter had been honored to assume the
position of the Narbons new attorney
But that had been many years ago when Dr Narbon was an ambitious young mad
scientist with a string of zombie-related lawsuits still ahead of her Winter
had liked Dr Narbon as much as he liked anything He would miss her nasty
brutish and consummately professional business demeanor He knew only two
things about the younger Helen Narbon the girl with whom he was about to
deal she was old enough to sign legally binding documents and she was sane
The first point made his job much easier the second he reluctantly admitted
in the clammy depths of his heart worried him
Well this was her dormitory Time to protect the Narbon interests Gamine
coeds in undersized T-shirts idled in the sunshine outside the ivy-dappled
building smoking slim cigarettes and listening to bubblegum on a portable
radio Winter descended on the tableau like the Bad Fairy storming the
enchanted palace freezing the girls mid-smoke He carried a black leather
attache case in one hand and a bone-handled walking stick in the other and
he was the worst thing they had ever seen The radio actually fell silent as
he passed
A good entrance was the backbone of an evil attorneys courtroom work it was
hardly to his credit that so few of his collegues rehearsed as
conscientiously or took tradition as seriously When however the plump woman
behind the desk in the lobby fell backwards over her chair in her panic to
scurry away from him then lay on the floor like a pastel beetle with her
round legs kicking helplessly at the air the corners of Winters colorless
lips did turn briefly incrementally upwards before he remembered himself
He loomed over the desk I am looking he intoned thanks to years of careful
practice it was difficult for Winter not to intone for a Helen Narbon
The desk attendent popped into a sitting position Her face glowed with the
relief of someone who has just been informed that the bell tolls not for her
but just for old Quasimodo again Oh Oh her I-I think shes waiting for you in
the common room She pointed eagerly down the hall her arm quivering
The common room Winter reflected with distaste was as brainlessly pleasant
as the rest of the campus rose draperies fuzzy armchairs a few abandoned
textbooks fading in the late-afternoon sun the whole place was a
round-bellied puppy begging to be kicked Dr Narbon would never have been
seen dead or undead in a place like this She had of course occasionally
lectured at colleges usually in the dead of night usually in an institution
with Invisible Arcane or possibly Enochian in its title This was not the
same thing at all And meanwhile the younger Helen Narbon having abandoned
her familial responsibilities seven years past-
The sole inhabitant of the parlor was curled in a burgundy armchair her back
to the door Winter loomed forward to investigate The girls blonde ponytail
swung over the open pages of the textbook casting pink shadows over complex
biological diagrams which Winter had he been asked could neither have
identified nor feigned any interest in
Winter was not in the habit of making polite noises to introduce himself for
much the same reason a tiger on the stalk is not in the habit of clearing
its throat Helen Beta Narbon he demanded
The girl jumped then turned to face him
Winter chided himself for the chill that ran up his spine He had after all
expected this The Narbons were mad scientists all the way down their
makeshift line Winter had only the mildest interest in what his clients did
with their time when they werent being clients but he was vaguely aware that
mad scientists had their specialties Professor Caesar controlled the weather
Lupin Madblood and Felix Madblood before him were killer- robot men Madame
Onyx had been into particle physics before vanishing into that parallel
dimension unfortunate business she still owed him a retainer from the
vanishing-island settlement
The Helen Narbons were biologists Reviving the dead was a talent of theirs
so was engineering beast-men so was cloning It was how they made more Helen
Narbons It was hard to picture them going through the usual biological
channels Winter should not have been startled then that Helen Beta was a
photocopy of Dr Narbon at twenty-five -the age lines erased from the round
apple-cheeked face the calculating gleam wiped from the large blue eyes He
should not have been startled and was deeply disappointed in himself for it
but he was In the course of his career Winter had seen the dead rise from
the grave usually smelling awful and angrily demanding personal-injury suits
but not like this This was eerie
Helen Beta gazed wide-eyed into the long grim face of Octavius Winter a face
that made strong men whimper when it frowned and shriek when it smiled Her
brow puckered Youre one of Moms people arent you Youve Got the look
Winter inclined his head I am among other things Dr Narbons attorney and
executor You received my letter
Thats right Why did you want to see me And what happened to Mr Threadham
Elijah Threadham died not long after you ceased communications with Dr
Narbon
He was already dead
This time it took
Oh Helen frowned Well I dont know what Mom told you but we went over this
with Mr Threadham She doesnt have any control over me It doesnt matter that
I was created as an experiment she cant
I fear you misunderstand the situation Miss Narbon Do You know of a decent
Italian restaurant
What
I prefer to discuss matters of a sensitive nature over dinner Unless You
would prefer a more private venue
Sensitive Look Mr was it Winter
Winter
Mister Winter I cut my ties to Mom and her thingies when I left home Im
putting myself through college Im working toward my doctorate
In biochemistry as I recall
Lots of people study biochemistry Lots of people are good at it It doesnt
mean anything And when I graduate this spring without blowing anything up
without unleashing any horror without Tampering in Gods Domain even a tiny
little bit I will find a nice job doing something nice that helps people You
understand Im out of the family business I dont care what horrible thing Mom
has done this time and Im not bailing her out again
Miss Narbon you are the most recent in the long line of Narbon women-
Immaterial
-and as such you have certain legal responsibilities Dinner
Helen deflated It was as Winter had with distaste suspected underneath a
thin brittle coating of bluster the girl was pure marshmallow
Okay Fine Lets go
Helen stuffed her textbook into a lilac backpack and stood She was wearing a
pretty pink blouse This struck Winter as particularly obscene How dare this
girl dress Dr Helen Narbons body in a pretty pink blouse It had tiny hearts
embroidered around the collar Winters small sour stomach turned
The radio on the front lawn had resumed normal play the bucolic sorority
tableau was restored As Winter Helen bobbing nervously in his wake passed
the college girls his ears picked up hisses of conversation
Oh surprise its her again
What do you think they got her for this time-
hope shes not coming back
He -flicked a glance at them This time the radio exploded You dont seem
well-liked here said Winter casting about for light conversation
Oh those girls Helen tossed her head There were accidents Early on Some
people will believe all kinds of rumors
But youre much better now I imagine
Yes
Im sure youve never even laid a finger on those particular young women
Exactly
And it didnt so much as occur to you how very easy it would be to convert
their bones to some highly corrosive acid which would eat their soft young
flesh from the inside out
Im much better
Now that Winter had time to reflect he saw that the really remarkable thing
about Helen Beta all things considered was how much she didnt resemble her
creator Dr Narbons shock of dandelion hair had stuck out from her head in
the mad scientists regulation finger-in-the- lightsocket formation with the
odd clump burned or bitten off Helens was bound back in a tight neat
ponytail with a stiffness that suggested too much styling gel or perhaps
wood glue Dr Narbons electric blue eyes had flickered behind a formidable
pair of black-framed Army-issue BCDs Helen also wore glasses of course but
hers were fanciful little loops of filligree perched on her nose as if ready
to bail out at the first sign of trouble If it were possibe for glasses to
make a person look less intelligent these were the frames And Helen hunched
something Winter considered only acceptable for licensed hunchbacks and
chewed her lip and worried her brow And that teeny-tiny voice
Mr Winter
Winter sighed Miss Narbon
Are you going to tell me what this is about
Over dinner Miss Narbon I am very sorely in need of dinner
Twenty minutes later Octavius Winter was glowering He seldom felt called
upon to glower His normal expression was more than foreboding enough to
communicate his disapproval often across state lines The very fact that
circumstances had gotten bad enough to require a full glower was enough to
dampen his already thoroughly-mildewed mood
This is a nice place said Helen Beta bouncing in her seat a little
Winter allowed his gaze to travel slowly and witheringly around the room he
was not accustomed to dining in welllit establishments and the very fact
that he could see his surroundings was enough to make him dislike them his
dark little avian eyes squinted into the flat flourescent light there is he
intoned a jukebox
its a perfectly nice bistro helen said defensively ducking behind her
laminated menu
it occured to winter that the glower had relatively little effect on his
dining companion she might be a damp little ball of pink fluff he reminded
himself but she had been raised by Dr Narbon Evil probably didnt bother her
that much More likely it just made her faintly homesick He allowed his face
to realign itself along its well-worn grooves and glanced down at the table
His aching eyes gazed blearily at artifacts he found utterly alien and
horrific paper napkins fiberglass surfaces little foilwrapped pats of butter
and a little sign urging cheerfully ask youre server for our daily specials
enough was enough
to business said winter your mother is dead
helen stared blankly what
your mother dead winter squinted crosswise at the menu as if trying to avoid
direct eye contact with it do you imagine they know anything whatsoever
about tortellini
what do you mean dead
winter glanced up youre a biologist arent you now as her executor i have
certain duties at this time as do you as her heir his attache case snapped
open there is to begin some paperwork to be signed
wait what helen shook herself how how did she die
angry mob i am assured it was slow and agonizing a rare blush of human
feeling moved winter to attempt a consoling word or two she would have
wanted it that way
you ready to order snapped a waitress
winter returned to his paperwork i will have whichever of your a la carte
items is least tasteless do not under any circumstances bring me anything
you people consider wine
helen rubbed her forehead hell have the tortellini bring me the special and
beer
as soon as the waitress was gone helen turned on winter mr winter i dont
appreciate this my mother is not dead
winter didnt answer he could see no particular point
two goldtipped pens emerged from his attache case and took their place at
the table flanking dr narbons last will and testament
shes not said helen her voice strained shes got you fooled shes played dead
any number of times dont you know that
from the depths of the case winter unearthed a slim black poisonously
expensivelooking laptop computer it yawned luxuriously spreading its
paperthin alligator jaws with surprising speed winters pale fingers flew
over the ebony keys winters interest in technology extended strictly to
owning the best and weilding perfect control over it his approach to his
clients was similar he hoped helen beta would stop being tiresome soon
are you listening helen was saying shes not dead she couldnt be
winter turned the computer so she could see it was impressive he had to
admit the quality of video available on a really good computer these days he
didnt bother watching this time but the sound was crystal clear the cries of
the enraged mob the roar and crackle of the flames and above all the screams
it wasnt and exceptional end for a mad scientist not remotely but highdef
digital really did add something it certainly left no doubt whatsoever that
dr narbon was dead afterwards helen sat in silence the pink had drained from
her cheeks shes not gone she said at last its a hoax she faked the video
somehow she
i dont believe so said winter there are several other videos if youd care to
see them evidently a number of the villagers brought camcorders
my mother
is quite dead yes now as you can see from the will you stand to inherit
she cant be dead
the couple at the next table stared then glanced away
winter maintaining a cold grip on his nerves looked up from his laptop he
ignored the unaccustomed warmth of blood pumping in his veins
it was probably nothing he thought almost certainly nothing but for a moment
he thought hed heard in helen betas voice a minute dissonance a tremor the
twang of a very fine thread stretched to its limit it was probably nothing
it had better be nothing
winter had worked for many years with mad geniuses of various stripes but
only once had he actually seen one in the process of going mad it had been
happening for several hours by the time winter had arrived on the scene and
no one could get within half a mile of the building where the boy was holed
up no one living at any rate winter recalled the afternoon as a fever dream
of fire shadows creeping circuitry and objects turning nauseatingly inside
out if the boy hadnt been knocked out by a chunk of falling plaster he
almost certainly would have pulled the building and possibly the surrounding
town down around himself thereby thoughtfully simplifying winters job
as it was hed survived and had awakened in a much calmer state albeit still
as mad as any number of hatters he didnt make things turn insideout anymore
though mad geniuses were said to be at their most creative during the
initial breakdown which was why no one wanted to be anywhere near them at
the time whenever he thought of the incident winter remembered exactly how
small the boy had looked when the emts had carried him out of the ruins how
small and unremarkable with blackhead scabs on his thin pubescent cheeks and
plaster in his greasy black hairand how how impossible it was to imagine any
connection between this scrawny boy and the horrors that had come from his
head and hands
it was usually boys winter reminded himself teenagers they went insane when
they were young helen beta might have been a copy of her mad mother a pale
washedout copy winter thought but she hadnt gone mad or shown any sign of
going mad and now she was getting a little too old to lose her mind
winter reprimanded himself for letting his imagination get the better of him
he was no great fan of having an imagination in the first place
you dont understand helen beta was saying she cant be i mean she wouldnthow
could she leave me withshe broke into heaving messy sobs
winter snapped the laptop shut and gazed grimly at the ceiling not quite
sure where to put his eyes he was accustomed to dealing with people who
reacted to news of a death in the family with peals of maniacal laughter
tacky hed always thought but still vastly preferable to this damp display he
considered offering the girl a handkerchief but decided against it it was
silk after all
dr narbon winter said at last was a mad scientist surely even you are aware
that mad scientists are not noted for long and healthy lives i dont believe
a dr narbon has ever reached her fiftieth birthday admittedly its more
common for them to destroy themselves before the mob gets to them
shes not dr narbon helen beta shouted shes my mom
the bistro fell silent for a long level moment winter stared at the girl
across the table her tangled hair her pink face covered in red blotches and
glossy with tearsbut still unmistakably the face of the infamous dr narbon
then he laughed he couldnt help himself it was just too ridiculous
helen beta stared at him sniffed loudly then ran for the restroom
winter glowered at the rest of the restaurant he felt a sudden fierce
irritation at helen beta and at dr narbon for subjecting him to this ordeal
why she couldnt have died unloved by anyone like a sensible person was
beyond him it was that strange maternal instinct in the narbons kindness and
mercy were clinical curiosities to them winter knew all too well they were
unmoved by love but when it came to their creations they went just a little
bit soft winters mind wandered at the thought of dr narbon perfect save for
that one weakness
not until the waitress arrived with two plates of rubbery pasta did he
realize that helen beta had been away from the table a little too long his
blood was always chilly but this time it froze with creeping horror he
realized what he had done he had laughed he had laughed and he was a fool
helen stared at her face in the restroom mirror her mothers face no her face
hers it kept going blurry as her eyes went in and out of focus she was
having interesting ideas again all kinds of interesting ideas and it was
harder than usual to stop thinking about them because of the laughter that
fool and his laughter it echoed around and around the part of her head where
she went to get away from interesting ideas
i am having a schizophrenic helen told her mothers reflection enunciating
crisply of the type characterized by general disorganized thinking and
possible auditory hallucinations this is a commonly observed phenomenon
among individuals afflicted with hypercognitive dementia also known as
waltons disorder also known popularly as mad genius dsmiv numeric code 29533
if this disorder is genetic there is a 100 percent chance that i have
inherited it i know exactly what is going on it is perfectly comprehensible
she laughed hysterically for a minute or so not a good sign she thought and
then the thought fluttered away her face when it skipped into focus was pale
and blotchy possibly she had been crying yes someone had definitely been
crying sometime not her not when everything was so funny and she had so many
interesting ideas it was all so funny so funny with everywhere the laughter
then she couldnt think about that anymore because she got distracted by the
hand soap
hand soap primary active ingredient probably c12h7cl3o2 better known as
triclosan harmful only to bacteria at low concentrations but at higher
concentrations a potentially powerful widespectrum biocide also present
glycerin ammonium chloride some kind of alcohol various artificial dyes good
old flexible dihydrogen monoxide and goodness knew how many other
entertaining chemicals innocuous in this specific combination but so easy to
pick apart and link back together and such a priceless shade of pink
shed need more organic material though you couldnt do anything really
interesting without a few carbon chains she spent some time admiring the
paper towels absently yanking piles of them onto the floor she giggled
heterodyning with the laughter in her head with this and a few key molecules
isolated from the soap she could make something that would wedge delicate
white tendrils no pink tendrils they ought to be pink through walls and
floors and the joints between human bones burning everything it touched with
chemical love she could make all kinds of funny things
i am having a schizophrenic episode helen murmured splashing in a puddle of
soap for a moment she screamed at herself to get a grip and then the person
who used to be helen narbon was washed away forever in a bubbly pink rush of
ideas the floor the floor was dirty she could do so much with a dirty floor
bleached paper a a little fungus there wasnt really much usable organic
matter in the restroom the fatalities might have been kept to a minimum if
helen hadnt wandered her fingers pink and slippery across the hall and into
the bistro kitchen
winters instincts were good he ran the moment he realized what he might have
done he bolted from the table knocking his chair to the floor and causing
the waitress to spill an amateurishlooking minestrone down the front of her
blouse he ran for the door and he almost made it
behind winter a woman screamed and then something strong and moist lashed
around his ankle he hit the floor hard ripping the jacket of his blackest
and most evil bespoke suit a sharp green smell clouded his lungs coiling
around like something alive
he coughed it was he realized as his eyes watered the aroma of a not
thoroughly hopeless pesto alla genovese pity she hadnt had access to a
proper parmagiano reggiano he thought wildly
another tendril whipped around his chest pinning his right arm with his left
he grabbed for something anything a chair leg a dropped knife he didnt
intend to go down without a fight threadham hadnt gone down without a fight
the first six or seven times hed been killed
his manicured nails scraped linoleum came up empty then the tomatoes were
upon him and the tomatoes were horrible countless little tomatoes with tiny
sneering faces they melted into a pearlescent jam and seeped into his mouth
and ears and nostrils the taste was fresh and tart with just a hint
distinctive but not overpowering of olive oil
someone trampled on winters hand in the rush for the exit through ears
muffled by tomato sauce he heard burbling screams then silence then softly
at first from the far end of the room a sweet tinkling littlegirl laugh
miss narbon he heard himself saying thats enough his voice slipped out high
and thin you can stop now please youve shown us all
a pink shadow fell over him despite himself winter looked up ah there it was
at last the face of helen narbon the real one smiling that beautiful
horrible smile
oh hello mr winter said helen brightly you were saying something about an
inheritance yes
glurb said winter sauce dribbled down his chin hissing
now now mr winter we cant monkey around this is business of a sensitive
nature isnt it
for a few moments helen seemed distracted by a mobile heap of
pesto climbing up a screaming waitresss leg or possibly a parmesan cheese
shaker she hummed softly to herself until winter started coughing up a
mixture of blood and marinara then light clicked on behind her big blue eyes
yes the inheritance said helen i dont want to be all boring and
materialistic about this but im going to need a little nest egg to get my
own lab going arent i this isnt going to do at all
her disapproving gaze took in the ruined restaurant the clouds of pink and
black smoke billowing out of the kitchen the sniggering tomatoes the
saucesplattered corpses
a proper lab you know with with test tubes and centrifuges and pretty
science lights and a sign for the break room you dont have to be crazy to
work here but it helps
this a tiny miserable voice in the back of winters head noted seemed to
strike her as hilarious
i know i know helen continued the whole grief thing im moving too fast but
im thinking fast now you know i cant waste time doing things like normal
people here you see it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same
place if you want to get somewhere else you must run at least twice as fast
as that she grinned baring her teeth
winter found his voice im sure its what your mother would have wanted
my mother is dead the smile clicked back into place but wont it be nice a
storefront laboratory with a little doomsday device in the back and henchmen
well we can make do with interns to start see where it goes from there oh oh
you know what longitudinal study id like to build on its the funniest thing
something was eating winters arm he was glad he couldnt turn his head far
enough to see what it was
narbon
no no you lie back and relax mr winter ill have you up and about in a bit
helen turned back to the kitchen youll be dead of course i hope thats okay
yes winter realized yes it was okay he was an evil attorney he had always
assumed one his clients would do him in someday and he had expectedno no
might as well be honest he had hopedit would helen narbon this girl wasnt dr
narbon but she was close so close that horrible smile for the first time in
years and the last time ever winter felt his heart skip a beat he thought
back to his first private consultation with dr narbon that first zombie
lawsuit he remembered taking over from threadham he remembered her hair
in the kitchen machinery whirred it sounded sharp creaking with the strain
of disuse winters lips curved into a smile at last he thought come full
circle
end
When Octavius Winter told people - normal people - that he was an evil
attorney, they nearly always responded with some jolly variant on, "Aren't
they all?"
Winter had a special gaze reserved for those people. It was on the surface
almost identical to his usual workaday glare, the only discernible
difference was that it inspired the target to instantly stagger back, gibber
an apology, or burst into tears. Generally all three.
He was an evil attorney. Like all the best evil attorneys, he knew that his
clients, whether world-conquering despots, twitchy mad scientists, or the
slick and reptilian heads of sinister corporations, appreciated a modicum of
the appropriate style from the servitors in their hire. For a lawyer, that
meant a complexion of fungal sallowness, a dour visage carved in deep and
portentous lines, hair slicked back from a window's peak, expensive dark
suits with shoulders broad enough to accomodate a brace of vultures, and,
whenever possible, a cloak. The gaze was just the maraschino cherry on the
macabre hot-fudge sundae of Octavius Winter, Evil Attorney at Law.
For what he charged, it was the least he could do. Evil law was steady,
rewarding work. Winter's practice attracted the type of clients who had
plenty of liquid cash, suffered frequent difficulties with the law, and were
generous, in their peculiar way, to those willing to help them. Winter did
get the occasional bad apple - one of those short-sighted would-be overlords
who try to murder their own hirelings, up to and including their legal
representative, simply to prove their ruthlessness - but it was for such
frivolous individuals that odorless poisons had been developed, after all.
Winter didn't much mind handling the bad apples in the evil community. He
always politely but firmly requested payment up front. Yet the functions of
an evil attorney do include some genuine unpleasantness, and Winter, as his
tasteful black sedan slid through the shadows of the university's sunny
tree-lined drive, suspected that he might be approaching some of it.
He was not pleased. True, the Narbon estate was in many respects the finest
entry in his impeccable portfolio, and he was willing to endure much for it.
Before Dr. Helen Narbon had hired Winter, her family's legal affairs had
been handled, for uncounted generations, by Elijah Threadham, one of the
true legends. Winter remembered reading, with boyish awe, in his days as an
amoral law student, of how the mere entrance of the venerable lawyer into a
courtroom, stapled-together flesh dripping and eyesockets emitting their
familiar red LED glow, had won the Narbon family many hasty and agreeable
out-of-court settlements. When Threadham had, at last, gone irrevocably to
pieces, and Dr. Narbon had reluctantly stopped digging him up and hooking him
to the galvanizer for one last case, Winter had been honored to assume the
position of the Narbons' new attorney.
But that had been many years ago, when Dr. Narbon was an ambitious young mad
scientist with a string of zombie-related lawsuits still ahead of her.
Winter had liked Dr. Narbon as much as he liked anything. He would miss her
nasty, brutish, and consummately professional business demeanor. He knew
only two things about the younger Helen Narbon, the girl with whom he was
about to deal: she was old enough to sign legally binding documents, and she
was sane. The first point made his job much easier; the second, he
reluctantly admitted in the clammy depths of his heart, worried him.
Well, this was her dormitory. Time to protect the Narbon interests. Gamine
coeds in undersized T-shirts idled in the sunshine outside the ivy-dappled
building, smoking slim cigarettes and listening to bubblegum on a portable
radio. Winter descended on the tableau like the Bad Fairy storming the
enchanted palace, freezing the girls mid-smoke. He carried a black leather
attache case in one hand and a bone-handled walking stick in the other and
he was the worst thing they had ever seen. The radio actually fell silent as
he passed.
Winter did not allow himself even a moment of self-congratulation. A good
entrance was the backbone of an evil attorney's courtroom work. It was
hardly to his credit that so few of his collegues rehearsed as
conscientiously or took tradition as seriously. When, however, the plump
woman behind the desk in the lobby fell backwards over her chair in her
panic to scurry away from him, then lay on the floor like a pastel beetle
with her round legs kicking helplessly at the air, the corners of Winter's
colorless lips did turn briefly, incrementally upwards before he remembered
himself.
He loomed over the desk. "I am looking," he intoned - thanks to years of
careful practice, it was difficult for Winter not to intone - "for a Helen
Narbon."
The desk attendant popped into a sitting position. Her face glowed with the
relief of someone who has just been informed that the bell tolls not for
her, but just for old Quasimodo again.
"Oh! Oh, her! I-I think she's waiting for you in the common room." She
pointed eagerly down the hall, her arm quivering.
The common room, Winter reflected with distaste, was as brainlessly pleasant
as the rest of the campus: rose draperies, fuzzy armchairs, a few abandoned
textbooks fading in the late-afternoon sun... the whole place was a
round-bellied puppy begging to be kicked. Dr. Narbon would never have been
seen dead, or undead, in a place like this. She had, of course, occasionally
lectured at colleges - usually in the dead of night, usually in an
institution with "Invisible", "Arcane", or possibly "Enochian" in its title.
This was not the same thing at all. And, meanwhile, the younger Helen
Narbon, having abandoned her familial responsibilities seven years past--
The sole inhabitant of the parlor was curled in a burgundy armchair, her
back to the door. Winter loomed forward to investigate. The girl's blonde
ponytail swung over the open pages of the textbook, casting pink shadows over
complex biological diagrams which Winter, had he been asked, could neither
have identified nor feigned any interest in.
Winter was not in the habit of making polite noises to introduce himself for
much the same reason a tiger on the stalk is not in the habit of clearing
its throat. "Helen Beta Narbon," he demanded.
The girl jumped, then turned to face him.
Winter chided himself for the chill that ran up his spine. He had, after
all, expected this. The Narbons were mad scientists all the way down their
makeshift line. Winter had only the mildest interest in what his clients did
with their time when they weren't being clients, but he was vaguely aware
that mad scientists had their specialties. Professor Caesar controlled the
weather. Lupin Madblood, and Felix Madblood before him, were killer-robot
men. Madame Onyx had been into particle physics before vanishing into that
parallel dimension. Unfortunate business; she still owed him a retainer from
the vanishing-island settlement.
The Helen Narbons were biologists. Reviving the dead was a talent of theirs.
So was engineering beast-men. So was cloning. It was how they made more
Helen Narbons. It was hard to picture them going through the usual
biological channels.
Winter should not have been startled, then, that Helen Beta was a photocopy
of Dr. Narbon at twenty-five - the age lines erased from the round
apple-cheeked face, the calculating gleam wiped from the large blue eyes. He
should not have been startled, and was deeply disappointed in himself for
it, but he was. In the course of his career, Winter had seen the dead rise
from the grave, usually smelling awful and angrily demanding personal-injury
suits, but not like this. This was eerie.
Helen Beta gazed wide-eyed into the long grim face of Octavius Winter, a
face that made strong men whimper when it frowned and shriek when it smiled.
Her brow puckered. "You're one of Mom's people, aren't you? You've got the
look."
Winter inclined his head. "I am, among other things, Dr. Narbon's attorney
and executor. You received my letter?"
"That's right. Why did you want to see me? And what happened to Mr.
Threadham?"
"Elijah Threadham died not long after you ceased communications with Dr.
Narbon."
"He was already dead."
"This time it took."
"Oh." Helen frowned. "Well, I don't know what Mom told you, but we went over
this with Mr. Threadham. She doesn't have any control over me. It doesn't
matter that I was created as an experiment. She can't--"
"I fear you misunderstand the situation, Miss Narbon. Do you know of a
decent Italian restaurant?"
"What?"
"I prefer to discuss matters of a sensitive nature over dinner. Unless you
would prefer a more private venue?"
"Sensitive? Look, Mr... was it Winter?"
"Winter."
"Mister Winter. I cut my ties to Mom and her thingies when I left home. I'm
putting myself through college. I'm working toward my doctorate."
"In biochemistry, as I recall."
"Lots of people study biochemistry. Lots of people are good at it. It
doesn't mean anything. And when I graduate this spring without blowing
anything up, without unleashing any horror, without Tampering in God's
Domain even a tiny little bit, I will find a nice job doing something nice
that helps people. You understand? I'm out of the family business. I don't
care what horrible thing Mom has done this time, and I'm not bailing her out
again."
"You are the most recent in the long line of Narbon women--"
"Immaterial."
"--and, as such, you have certain legal responsibilities. Dinner?"
Helen deflated. It was as Winter had, with distaste, suspected. Underneath a
thin, brittle coating of bluster, the girl was pure marshmallow.
"Okay. Fine. Let's go." Helen stuffed her textbook into a lilac backpack and
stood.
She was wearing a pretty pink blouse. This struck Winter as particularly
obscene. How dare this girl dress Dr. Helen Narbon's body in a pretty pink
blouse? It had tiny hearts embroidered around the collar. Winter's small,
sour stomach turned.
The radio on the front lawn had resumed normal play; the bucolic sorority
tableau was restored. As Winter, Helen bobbing nervously in his wake, passed
the college girls, his ears picked up hisses of conversation.
"Oh, surprise, it's her again."
"What do you think they got her for this time?"
"Hope she's not coming back."
He flicked a glance at them. This time the radio exploded.
"You don't seem well-liked here," said Winter, casting about for light
conversation.
"Oh, those girls." Helen tossed her head. "There were accidents. Early on.
Some people will believe all kinds of rumors."
"But you're much better now, I imagine."
"Yes."
"I'm sure you've never even laid a finger on those particular young women."
"Exactly."
"And it didn't occur to you how very easy it would be to convert their bones
to some highly corrosive acid which would eat their soft young flesh from
the inside out."
"I'm much better."
Now that Winter had time to reflect, he saw that the really remarkable thing
about Helen Beta, all things considered, was how much she didn't resemble
her creator. Dr. Narbon's shock of dandelion hair had stuck out from her
head in the mad finger-in-the-light-socket formation with the odd clump
burned or bitten off. Helen's was bound back in a tight, neat ponytail with
a stiffness that suggested too much styling gel or perhaps wood glue. Dr.
Narbon's electric blue eyes had flickered behind a formidable pair of
black-framed army-issue BCDs. Helen also wore glasses, of course, but hers
were fanciful little loops of filligree perched on her nose as if ready to
bail out at the first sign of trouble. If it were possible for glasses to
make a person look less intelligent, these were the frames. And Helen
hunched, something Winter considered only acceptable for licensed
hunchbacks. And chewed her lip, and worried her brow, and that teeny-tiny
voice...
"Mr. Winter?"
Winter sighed. "Miss Narbon."
"Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"Over dinner, Miss Narbon. I am very sorely in need of dinner."
Twenty minutes later, Octavius Winter was glowering. He seldom felt called
upon to glower. His normal expression was more than foreboding enough to
communicate his disapproval, often across state lines. The very fact that
circumstances had gotten bad enough to require a full glower was enough to
dampen his already thoroughly-mildewed mood.
"This is a nice place," said Helen Beta, bouncing in her seat a little.
Winter allowed his gaze to travel slowly and witheringly around the room. He
was not accustomed to dining in well-lit establishments, and the very fact
that he could see his surroundings was enough to make him dislike them. His
dark little avian eyes squinted into the flat fluorescent light.
"There is," he intoned, "a jukebox."
"It's a perfectly nice bistro," Helen said defensively, ducking behind her
laminated menu.
It occured to Winter that the glower had relatively little effect on his
dining companion. She might be a damp little ball of pink fluff, he reminded
himself, but she had been raised by Dr. Narbon. Evil probably didn't bother
her that much. More likely, it just made her faintly homesick.
He allowed his face to realign itself along its well-worn grooves and
glanced down at the table. His aching eyes gazed blearily at artifacts he
found utterly alien and horrific: paper napkins, fiberglass surfaces, little
foil-wrapped pats of butter, and a little sign urging cheerfully, "Ask
you're server for our daily special's!"
Enough was enough. "To business," said Winter. "Your mother is dead."
Helen stared blankly. "What?"
"Your mother. Dead." Winter squinted crosswise at the menu as if trying to
avoid direct eye contact with it. "Do you imagine they know anything
whatsoever about tortellini?"
"What do you mean, 'dead'?"
Winter glanced up. "You're a biologist, aren't you? Now, as her executor, I
have certain duties at this time, as do you as her heir." His attache case
snapped open. "There is, to begin, some paperwork to be signed."
"Wait, what?" Helen shook herself. "How... how did she die?"
"Angry mob. I am assured it was slow and agonizing." A rare blush of human
feeling moved Winter to attempt a consoling word or two. "She would have
wanted it that way."
"You ready to order?" snapped a waitress.
Winter returned to his paperwork. "I will have whichever of your à la carte
items is least tasteless and greasy, and do not under any circumstances
bring me anything you people consider wine."
Helen rubbed her forehead. "He'll have the tortellini. Bring me the special
and beer."
As soon as the waitress was gone, Helen turned on Winter. "Mr. Winter, I
don't appreciate this. My mother is not dead."
Winter didn't answer. He could see no particular point.
Two gold-tipped pens emerged from his attaché case and took their place at
the table, flanking Dr. Narbon's last will and testament.
"She's not," said Helen, her voice strained. "She's got you fooled. She's
played dead any number of times. Don't you know that?"
From the depths of the case, Winter unearthed a slim, black, poisonously
expensive-looking laptop computer. It yawned luxuriously, spreading its
paper-thin alligator jaws. With surprising speed, Winter's pale fingers flew
over the ebony keys. Winter's interest in technology extended strictly to
owning the best and weilding perfect control over it. His approach to his
clients was similar. He hoped Helen Beta would stop being tiresome soon.
"Are you listening?" Helen was saying. "She's not dead! She couldn't be!"
Winter turned the computer so she could see. It was impressive, he had to
admit, the quality of video available on a really good computer these days.
He didn't bother watching this time, but the sound was crystal clear: the
cries of the enraged mob, the roar and crackle of the flames, and, above
all, the screams. It wasn't and exceptional end for a mad scientist, not
remotely, but highdef digital really did add something. It certainly left no
doubt whatsoever that Dr. Narbon was dead.
Afterwards, Helen sat in silence. The pink had drained from her cheeks.
"She's not gone